


Miles Before I Sleep

by Dameceles



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Background Poly, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Child Abuse, Childhood, Class Differences, Coming of Age, Culture Shock, Domestic Violence, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Master & Servant, Sister-Sister Relationship, Strangers to Friends, Worldbuilding, Xenophobia, marginalized minorities, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-19 19:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17607677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dameceles/pseuds/Dameceles
Summary: Flora had been born with another name, been meant for things beyond servanthood. But first and foremost, to grow up she had to survive. [pre-fe14]





	Miles Before I Sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dornishsphinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornishsphinx/gifts).



> Sorry this isn't closer to the prompt, but I hope the childhood and then coming-of-age Flora/Leo what ifs fit the bill. Oh, and lots of Ice Tribe headcanons, lots and lots.
> 
> The names Phayara (for Flora) and Phelixo (for Felicia) I've borrowed from ncfan's [tumblr post on Felica and Flora](https://ncfan-1.tumblr.com/post/144419162242/rough-snippet-of-a-fic-i-plan-on-writing). I found they had a lot of the same theories I did, how the twin's being taken from their family and forced into servitude was likely an ugly process.
> 
> Readers be warned, the tags matter.

_In the age where the First Dragons lived alongside their creation, when mortal kind took its first shaky steps on two legs, the turns of the world lost its heat and the earth was put to sleep under a blanket of white. Men and women, young and old, were bewildered by the change, by the chill and by the lack of food and for the first time they feared. The leaders gathered and quarreled over what was to be done, until finally each chose a god to beseech their intercession and the clans went their different ways._

_One such group tried to entreat the Wind Dragon and were buffeted back by gales. One such group tried to entreat the Fire Dragon and were seared by unquenchable flames. One such group tried to entreat the Dawn Dragon, then forgot the rest of the world because of the sheer brilliance of the light. One such group tried to entreat the Dusk Dragon, then were lost to the shadows. Yet another group entreated the Ice Dragon, who was angered by the plea to end their season of rule, so the god instead made their blood run cold and added those mortals to their domain._

_The last clan had chosen to entreat the ruler of the heavens, thus climbed the tallest mountain in hopes that their voices might be heard. The climb was arduous. The careless slipped on ice and fell upon the rocks while many more joined the earth in frozen sleep. At the end only one, young girl survived the summit and rather than offering pleas was overcome and wept. Yet these tears held a pure radiance that had Moro descending to seek out this new star and instead found the weeping girl. Taking pity, the Astral Dragon listened to her story and promised to share a small portion of their power if the mortal journeyed with them beyond the sky._

_Not wishing for the remaining survivors to be lost, she agreed and accompanied the god back to the heavens. Moro shared their power, made her a star in truth, and because of it the girl couldn't return to the earth. Yet her light shone in the heavens and guided every clan to shelter. She watched over them and mortal kind survived to the thaw of spring._

This was the most recent story their Maman had told Phayara and her sister, she’d even taught the story's meaning: _sometimes a sacrifice was made for others sake rather than your own benefit._ Since the founding of the Ice Tribe there’d always been a storyteller, the keeper of wisdom and voice of reason among their people. Her Maman was their storyteller, just like her Maman’s maman and her grandmarie’s maman and her great grandmarie’s maman and so forth in an unbroken line. It was their duty to learn the old ways and recite the stories until they were known by heart. To listen, to speak, to keep the words alive.

As Phayara brushed her hair she repeated the story to herself, the first step for memorization.

“Oh no, oh no no no no no!”

The troubled exclamation broke her concentration, and glancing back Phayara spied the brightly dyed strings were scattered across the furs of their sleeping mat. Phelixo’s eyes were dewy with tears as she clutched the tangled remains of the unraveled yarn doll against her chest. Her sister whimpered, “I’m so, so, so sorry, sister. One of the strings was much longer than the others and I pulled on it. I didn’t mean to…”

Phayara remembered the first time a yarn doll had come undone from their rough play, how mad she’s been at her sister for her clumsiness. But she’d been chided and then shown new dolls were no hardship to craft. Setting how the brush, she turned and said, “Don’t cry. I’ll go ask Maman for a skein and make another.”

“Really?” Phelixo sniffled.

“Yes. Stay and pick up that old yarn.”

Phayara quickly stood and padded out of their room before Phelixo could protest. It was past bedtime, so the house was dark, but she knew the path to their parents’ room well enough that she didn’t need to see. However, when she approached light flickered from the jam and the door was ajar, enough so that Phayara heard the voices from inside clearly.

“Why’d you go against me? We can’t capitulate to the demand of giving up our very words!”

“The Duke’s herald made it clear, we’re forbidden to speak like this. The children must only learn the Nohrian tongue.”

“That outsider can’t tell us what to do in our own homes-”

“Yes, he can. King Garon’s granted the jurisdiction. If we openly defy the order, the Duke is within his rights to increase our annual tribute. He threatened to take _the children_ for the gods sake.”

A silence followed those words, icy enough that she felt scared. Phayara knocked on the door and opened it wider. “Abba? Baba?”

Baba turned towards her, eyes as blue as Phelixo’s going wide. “Aisling, you’re shaking. Come here.”

He stooped down and Phayara went into his open arms, taking comfort in his familiar embrace. As he stood, wrapping his arms to hold her weight, Abba watched them from an arm’s length away. She wished he’d come closer and embrace them both, prove he wasn’t upset.

Instead, he glanced between the two of them with a stern expression on his face. “She can’t use those terms anymore. Phayara, call him ‘father’.”

“…father?” The Nohrian word felt clumsy on her tongue, didn’t feel right to call Baba that.

“Yes, from now on he’s ‘father’ and Maman is ‘mother’.”

Baba _tsk_ ed and sounded angry again. “And what about you, Kilma? Will you be ‘father’ too?”

Abba was also father? But Abba was Abba, and Baba was Baba, they weren’t the same. Phayara liked the Nohrian word less and less. “Where is Maman?”

Abba gave her a smile that looked tired. “Your mother is with the elders right now. They’re discussing the merits to the Nohrian practice of writing down words.”

❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄

In the northern fortress, there were no stories to be memorized for posterity. The lessons were all to teach them new ways to act and the only stories Phayara heard came through gossip and rumors. Alien as they were, the lot of servants and chambermaids were a lively crew, full of dry humor and informational fodder to the happenings both in there and Windmire at large. By the end of her third week Phayara felt fully acclimated to living in the servants’ quarters and by the fifth she was abreast of all the gossip of the fortress. How King Garon’s many concubines schemed against one another openly and how despite being of age the crown prince often stayed in the old queen’s quarters, were just a couple interesting tidbits that she had learned during her stay.

Their master’s room was located within the farthest tower from the servants’ quarters. Jakob, her sister, and herself had to rise an hour earlier than everyone else to arrive in time for the daily wake up call. It was also inconveniently far from the fortress’ kitchens, so every request and delivery for food or drink took double the time it would’ve for any of the concubine’s quarters. No wonder none of the local servants had taken the job before, likely none of them had wanted it.

They'd woken before dawn and since they'd been awake well into the night before, it meant Phelixo had been practically tripping over her own feet while performing ordered tasks. Phayara had been fetching the tray laden with a morning snack when the head housekeeper caught her, demanded that she let a different servant deliver the food and instead attend her. Without Gunter present she was unable to refuse the direct order. So Phayara obeyed, doing her best to keep an outward composure as they went to the courtyard where a conspicuous crowd had gathered— including the faces the royal children of the concubines.

Yet these Nohrian princes and princesses paid them no mind, instead focused upon a sorcerer with pitch-black hair who held a gold-embossed book aloft. The man was speaking, but they were far enough to the edges of the yard that Phayara couldn’t make the words out. Madam Eugena led her until she stood on the side opposite to the crowd, then not a hat but an apple was set atop Phayara’s head.

“There, stay just as you are now, Flora. Do _not_ move from this spot.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Phayara answered, strangling the urge to ask why she’d been brought here and for what purpose. Long ago she’d learned that Madam Eugena did not tolerate questioning and quickly doled out punishment. So she stayed in place, staring straight ahead and not fidgeting, as the head housekeeper left her standing alone.

“Your Highnesses, now that you’ve all learned how to wield the Fimbulvetr tome we shall test your aim in its casting. Observe,” he outstretched a hand and Madam Eugena placed an apple upon his palm. With a flourish he tossed the fruit up into the air and with snapping chant, knocked it into a nearby pillar and froze it in place.

“That’s a parlor trick, not a show of skill,” shouted one of the smaller boys, with straight blond hair and a haughty demeanor.

“You’d be correct Prince Leo, if hitting the fruit was all that was required of this test. However, do you see this maid?” The sorcerer made a dramatic motion and all eyes turned to herself. “The fruit on her head is the target. If any part of your spell hits her, you’ll fail.”

Phayara clenched her hands together to hide the way frost was beginning to creep over her fingertips. A human target for amateur spell-casting, this was the level of disregard her captors held for her life. She dug her fingernails into the back of her hand, refusing to let them see her cry.

“My, my, Instructor Iago. Isn’t this a tad dangerous?” The most mature-looking girl in the crowd spoke up, her tone of voice not especially concerned despite her words.

“No need to fret. This servant is a member of the Ice Clan, the cold won’t harm her significantly.” He handed the purple-haired girl the tome and stepped aside. “Now, please show your brothers and sisters how its done, First Princess Camilla.”

The Nohrian princess moved until she was centered across from Phayara, her dark eyes staring without a shred of mercy. Opening the tome, Camilla raised her free hand and said, “Sorry darling.”

Phayara scarcely drew the next breath and then a wave of cold rushed past her, the apple cleanly knocked from her head. While the sudden chill was invigorating, it didn’t blot out the fear that churned in her gut as she watched Camilla hand the tome over to the next royal child. Only after Madam Eugena had placed a new apple upon her head did the process begin anew— the spell cast, the target removed and then replaced.

On and on it went, with the royal children growing younger and more unlearned as students. The magic went from missing her head by a margin to a mere hairsbreadth. Although she’d already locked her knees, Phayara struggled to keep her heart from racing as she mentally chanted, _Don’t move. Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move._

The next boy was shorter than Phayara, with curly blond hair, and the way he fumbled to open the tome had the frost creeping up to her palms. His hesitation was noticeable before he began the spell’s incantation. She couldn’t hold back a gasp and shut her eyes as a cold wind smacked her face, then her eyelashes were frozen together. She raised her hands reaching up to brush them off, then multiple sets of laughter began by the time she could reopen her eyes.

“What was that, Wulfric?” A smaller prince stepped out of line and up to the one with the tome, his tone of voice snide. “Going to breeze our enemies to death?”

The other boy’s pale face flushed a bright red as he scowled. “Shut up, Leo! A baby like you can’t do any better.”

Leo made a disgusted noise then yanked the tome out of Wulfric’s hands and shoved his brother out of the way. He flipped open the pages and his grin was almost maniacal as he raised a hand. “Just watch me!”

The spell conjured forth had enough power behind it that she could _see_ it manifest. Phayara instinctively flinched— the magic wove itself around the apple so tightly that it was locked within a shell of ice without disturbing a hair on her head. Yet her body shook so badly from the sudden case of nerves that it dislodged the frozen apple, causing it to fall at her feet.

It seemed no one else noticed though, as the two princes had set upon one another, screaming like wild animals. Leo was quickly wrestled to the ground, Wulfric shouting obscenities as he slapped an open hand across his brother’s face. The smaller boy’s cries of pain made Phayara sick to her stomach. It seemed she wasn’t the only one, as the eldest princess took a step towards the two, only to be held back by the sorcerer.

“Instructor Iago, let me do something!”

“Why, this is a valuable lesson. Your brother should learn not to pick fights he cannot win.”

Wulfric dealt a hard enough blow that Leo’s head bounced against the floor— Phayara has seen enough. She dashed for them, ignoring the housekeeper’s order to halt, and let the power that’d built alongside the stress burst out from her hands. With that, it was a simple thing to bowl Wulfric off his brother and she froze his clothing to the floor for good measure. Turning a deaf ear to the outraged curses, she instead knelt beside the downed boy.

His face was tear-streaked, reddened, and already swelling. So, Phayara gathered a tiny measure of her power and carefully pressed her cooled hands against the forming bruises. Leo's eyelids fluttered, his expression was dazed. For all his posturing and haughtiness before, he was still a vulnerable child.

However, Phayara couldn’t provide her touch for long. Iago’s large hand harshly grabbed her by the arm, hauling her onto her feet and away from the injured prince. His own pale face was flushed and twisted with rage as he spit, “You beastly savage, attacking a dragon-blooded prince. If I could, I’d execute you right here!”

Iago dragged her back into the open space of the courtyard and she screamed when he tore open the back of her uniform. He threw Phayara to the ground and then conjured slim lines of fire that struck her back like the lashes of the whip— she forgot the rest of the world as the burning pain overcame her senses. Her voice was hoarse from begging for mercy by the time he stopped, her entire body spasmed under the blistered agony across her back.

Phayara wasn’t sure how long she laid there, sobbing with tears freezing against her cheeks. Eventually Gunter appeared, apologized, and picked her up off the ground. It renewed the agony, had her crying harder, but it was thanks to him that she was settled into a proper bed. Once she was coherent enough, he explained that Madam Eugena had forbidden any medical treatment for the punishment but had agreed to allow for bed rest. Phayara managed a nod, he left, then free from prying eyes she cried until the pillow was sodden and her eyes felt gritty. Afterwards she drifted in a pained haze where time held no meaning.

“Got a delivery, for Flora? Is a Flora here?”

An unfamiliar voice called the name the Nohrian’s had assigned her after they’d stolen her from her home. Phayara hated that name, how she had to answer to it, how Phelixo had taken to ‘Felicia’ without a care. She was so much more than that Nohrian name! But the man sounded exasperated as he called for Flora again. It would’ve been simple for Phayara to say nothing and pretend to be asleep, but there’d be trouble and likely punishment if the head housekeeper found out. The thought of being whipped and denied vulneraries a second time, forced to endure this burning pain again, made her eyes sting.

So she gave in, forsaking all the hopes of her people, her Maman, and gave up her true name— became what the Nohrians demanded of her.

“I am Flora.” Her voice was weak, so Flora grit past the pain that ignited in her flayed back as she shakily raised a hand to garner the messenger’s attention. Ignoring the sparking discomforts, she turned her head against the pillow and watched as dark-skinned man approached with something crooked in his arms.

“Bout time.” His single eye narrowed as he held out a stick of polished wood topped by a shining crystal. “This healing staff is from Master Leo. And you look desperate for it.”

Flora’s breath hitched and tears welled in her eyes. She asked him to convey her thanks and accepted the gift with her raised hand, then painstakingly brought the staff to lay against the bed alongside her. With the delivery made the stranger quickly left the common room, and not long after he passed through the door another entered the room.

“Jakob,” Flora murmured, relieved enough to see him that she felt ready to cry again.

Swiftly he came beside her bed; Jakob took in the state of her and pursed his lips in a prissy way that spoke volumes of how he disapproved. But he knew how to use a staff, all three of them were training together. Soon enough this terrible day could just be another bad memory.

❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄

“You can go wherever you like, within the fortress.” That is what Sir Gunter had told them, the day she and her sister had been assigned to serve Master Corrin. But even then, Flora had understood the meaning underneath those words: _This is your cage, don’t try to escape._ She and her sister had heeded that warning when they were young, made sure to not step out of line and risk the safety of those back home.

Sometimes Flora found it difficult remembering she was surrounded by people who’d throw away her life at their convenience. As a child she hadn’t been warned against the kind of enemy who smiled at you. One that tried to get close to you. One that pretended to be something to you that they’re not. It meant it’d hurt all the more when they plunged a knife in her back.

Prince Leo was nothing if not persistent, however. After that initial gift, his overtures hadn’t stopped despite the years that’d passed. And the now weekly visits paid to Corrin only brought them into contact more often. He always approached Flora like she’s an old friend rather than someone coerced into servitude against their will and it grated on her nerves. Yet the prince’s potential wrath and loathing was not something she was hoping to add on to her list of hardships when it came to living here in the northern fortress.

Flora opened the door slowly to keep it from creaking, then set the brass candelabra down on a table inside. She turned around in time to watch Second Prince Leo close the door behind him and lean against it, perhaps to know should anyone try to enter. More distracting was the way he looked at her as though he could pry her open and read her like a book, if only given the time. Part of her wanted him to read her, wanted him to know, it was why she’d let him herd her out from the hallway into this vacant guest room.

“Aren’t you going to ask where I’ve been?”

His question spurred the memory that Leo had, in fact, been absent during Corrin’s last weekly royal visit. At the time it’d been one less guest to mind, and her hands had been full preventing Felicia from spilling tea on anyone. Flora humored him and parroted the question, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“Six days ago was my birthday and I’ve reached age presumptive. I celebrated as an adult at the Gilded Lily.” Leo said with a smirk.

From the way he was watching her Leo expected a reaction, so Flora reached beyond her indifference and asked, “A flower shop?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the most exclusive pleasure house in Windmire! I couldn’t become a man with flowers,” he scoffed with a laugh. Leo's eyelids dropped so that he looked at her through pale lashes thick enough to make most women envious. He looked the part of young and beautiful scoundrel, skin pale against his black clothing. When she made no reply, his brow quirked, “You… you don’t know about it. But you’re older than Corrin, aren’t you?”

“By a year.”

“Definitely old enough then. I suppose father wouldn’t let you celebrate, since Corrin wasn’t even permitted a night out.”

If she’d still been with the Ice Clan, the elders and her parents would’ve filled a pack with supplies and sent her off with well wishes. She would’ve gone where her feet had taken her and slept under the stars. By her own wits and strength, she’d prove that she was no longer a child and could survive on her own— but then, the northern fortress had proven more brutal than any wilderness. Flora has stopped thinking of herself as a child long ago.

Leo, however seemed fixated, speaking in a manner that seemed more akin to thinking aloud than holding a discussion with her. “I could formally request you attend me for a day, use the excuse of going to market. But we’d go to the Gilded Lily-”

“I don’t want to go to a brothel.”

He frowned, looking insulted. “It’s a reputable establishment with courtesans, they’d be discreet. You’d choose one to make you a woman, I’d cover the cost.”

“Intimacy with strangers sounds disagreeable. I want to embrace someone I know.”

“Like who?”

“Like you, Prince Leo.”

Dark eyes went wide and a red blush rose in over his face. He sputtered, “Y-you’re joking!”

Her training as a servant warned Flora that such a request was wholly inappropriate given their respective stations— but the lingering shadow of Phayara rejected that idea. Her heart-father had led warriors in battle, her blood-mother had been a venerated storyteller, and her blood-father was still chieftain of the Ice Tribe. She was an heir of her own right with a status equal to any prince, no matter if Nohr refused to acknowledge it.

So, she raised her chin and challenged, “Am I so unappealing?”

Multiple emotions flashed through his eyes before the arrogant expression he used as a mask was in place. “It’s tradition one chooses they’re first partner.” His smile was almost a taunt, despite his hands clenching nervously. “Are you sure certain you want me?”

Silver hair and a pouting frown flashed through Flora’s mind and was immediately washed away by shyness. She instead considered the prince before her, of the qualities beyond his pretty face. For all Leo’s bravado and loud self-confidence, when it came to his brothers and sisters his mask always started to fall apart at the seams. She’d seen the way he’d watched Corrin, with uncertainty and with envy— frustratingly, it’d reminded Flora of her own inadequacies with Felicia. It made think that if either of them unraveled completely, they might trust the other to put them back together.

“I’m certain.” Flora brazenly took his hand in hers, drawing him away from the door towards the bed. “Show me what it means to be a woman, Prince Leo.”

In the privacy of the guest room, Leo demonstrated everything he’d learned and proved a quick study to Flora’s own proclivities. He’d quickly drifted to sleep afterwards and though sated enough to be tempted to do the same, Flora had dressed and quietly returned to the servants’ quarters. At dawn Felicia and herself would be expected to wake their master, the sweet ache between her legs was no excuse.

Only a day later rumors began circulating that one of King Garon’s sons enjoyed bedding servants, and a pot of freshly brewed tea had frozen in her hands as Flora bit her tongue. It wasn’t what’d happened at all, but the truth wasn’t the type of story told in the northern fortress— where all they recognized was her uniform. Flora was a maid, merely a servant. But she remembered a time she was not and was more than that name. So that following night she penned a letter to her father, and beneath the words asked: _How can I come home?_

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this fic was all taken from the [Robert Frost poem, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42891/stopping-by-woods-on-a-snowy-evening).
> 
> The intro myth is of my own creation but inspired by [Flora's Japanese script death quote](https://kantopia.wordpress.com/2016/03/26/fe-fates-localization-flora-death-quote-comparison-minor-major/).
> 
> For clarification in this fic I used a mishmash of terms from different languages for the Ice Tribe, here's my fictionalized meanings: Abba "blood father", Baba "heart father", Maman "blood mother", grandmarie "grandmother". The Ice Tribe marry more than one spouse, so their norm is polyamory (aka Flora has two dads and a mom)
> 
> I’ve always had the headcanon that the Nothern Fortress housed Nohr’s royal harem, and that all the kids lived there with their mothers until they were of age. Guessing at the game’s timeline imply the concubine wars might've been over by the time Corrin was nabbed, but for the fun of exploration I’m going to have them on-going for when Flora arrives. So this is a what-if with a heaping dollop of artistic license for how Leo and Flora might’ve met and had a relationship within game-canon, pre-game route events.


End file.
